


Blue Eyes

by Styfas



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Mentions of Captain Francis Crozier, Mentions of James Clark Ross' Deceased Wife Ann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27973067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Styfas/pseuds/Styfas
Summary: Sir James Clark Ross has summoned John Rae to his bedside.  His death-bedside, to be specific.  He has a confession to make, and it involves one Captain Francis Crozier.Terror Bingo:  Deathbed Confession
Kudos: 5
Collections: The Terror Bingo





	Blue Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I made up the character of "Mary." It's okay, she's one-dimensional, anyway.
> 
> I don't think I'll be completing a Bingo by using this square, but what the hey, I was inspired by it, so I wrote it!
> 
> As always, I must acknowledge and thank [Drac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drac), who introduced me to The Terror in the first place, who put up with my daily abuse of their Facebook messenger, help me with my silly Britglish questions, listen as I bounce my wacky ideas off of them, and support me by reading (not exactly beta reading, but "filtering" - if that makes sense) my supposed final versions of fics. 🧡 
> 
> DISCLAIMERS: I do/did not know SIr James Clark Ross, Dr. John Rae, Captain Francis Crozier, the Netsilik guy, the translator, nor Ann Ross. RIP to all. I do not own any of the characters of the AMC production of The Terror; they belong to AMC, writers, producers, actors, and anyone else who ever had anything to do with that TV programme.
> 
> I'm not making any money from this.
> 
> This is fiction - and that's a fact.

Sir James Ross hears a soft knock on his bedroom door. Bless his new caregiver; she’s sweet and has a good head on her shoulders, but she does tend to be overly timid. He wonders if this is the first time she’s ever cared for a dying man.

He pulls his bedcovers up to his shoulders. “Come in.” 

“Sorry to disturb you, Sir – but Dr. John Rae has arrived.”

“Excellent. Send him in, Mary.” 

She nods. “Is there anything you require? Shall I fluff your pillows? Fetch some water?”

“No, thank you. But if Dr. Rae should desire a drink or light refreshment, please see to it.”

“I’d already offered, Sir, and he declined.”

“Well done.”

Mary smiles. “Dr. Rae will be here directly.” She withdraws, leaving the door open.

On second thought, James wishes he had asked Mary to fluff up his pillows after all. Well, he’s not dead yet, and he just might be able to do it himself. He’s currently lying on his back, so all he needs to do is prop himself up on his forearms and push his elbows back to fluff and raise them. If that doesn’t work, perhaps he can turn to one side and punch at the top pillow. 

As he struggles to bring himself up, John Rae walks in. 

“James, I came as soon as I… Oh dear, allow me to help you?”

“You’re just in time, young man!” James’ chuckle gives way to a series of coughs.

John puts an arm behind James’ back to support him, does a quick and artful job of rearranging the pillows, and gently lowers his friend back down.

“Much better, thank you,” James says. “Pull that chair over here and sit. So, you were saying…?”

John takes James’ suggestion. “I came as soon I received your letter. How are you faring?”

“I’m dying - or hadn’t you heard?” James says with a smile. “But then, aren’t we all in the process of dying, every day? The doctors tell me it could be soon as a day, or as long as a week. Not much help, are they? Present company excepted, of course.” 

“Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?” John asks.

James speaks slowly between rasping breaths. “What I need is to tell you something I’ve been keeping to myself for nearly twelve years. Something you deserve to know.”

“What, James? What is it?”

James locks his gaze with John’s. “I saw him. I told you what the Eskimo elder said to me in 1850. On the rescue mission. Do you remember?”

“Yes. You saw him. You saw the Eskimo.”

“John… I saw Francis.” 

“But you told us the Eskimo man said that Francis was dying, and that they were all dead and gone.”

“The Eskimo was lying.”

“How can that be possible?”

“My translator and I left the tent. We were walking away, when something inside me – instinct, I suppose – told me to turn. I saw a man clothed in fur, standing no more than three yards away. He had blue eyes. Pale skin. He had a red beard. It was Francis.” 

_He had bags under his eyes. His face was more creased with weariness than when I had seen him last. His smile was gone. And he was missing his left hand… how?_

“Our eyes met,” James continues, still holding John’s gaze. “He was not dying. He was alive – and he appeared to be quite healthy.“

“Are you absolutely certain?”

“Yes. I still remember it like it was yesterday.”

“He was in furs, you say? But… was he happy?”

James considers carefully how he should answer. _Pain, worry, and shame were etched in Francis’ brow. I could see that he didn’t want to speak of any of it. Who knew what tragedies he had seen, what horrors had befallen the crews of the ships? Only he would know, and I intuited that I shouldn’t ask. I dared not ask him to come back to England, only to be humiliated by the public and discredited by the Admiralty. He wouldn’t want that, nor would I have wanted that for him. He had made the choice to remain there. Willingly, and out of necessity. He was… reconciled – and had assimilated. So, in that sense…_

“Yes,” James says. “He was happy.”

“Did you speak with him?”

_After our eyes met, we could only stand still. Francis shook his head…_

“Francis nodded. I nodded in return. In that moment, we understood each other. No words were necessary.”

_I truly didn’t want to, knowing that I would never see him again in this life, but…_

“I was the first to turn away.”

Having divulged the truth, James is too tired to fill the new silence in the room, so he waits for John to do so.

“No guilt, James. You were friends. If you think you did the right thing, then-”

I _know_ I did the right thing. For Francis.” 

_All is well._ _I'll see him again in Heaven…_

“The Eskimo kept a secret for Francis," James says. "I’ve done the same. Please keep this knowledge to yourself – but pray do not become burdened with it, as I had.” 

John Rae can only nod.

“Thank you.” James sighs and relaxes back into his pillows. “Now, I can join Ann.”

“No… not yet.”

“Not immediately, young man. But I can rest easy now. I’m ready to go.”

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” John says hurriedly as he pats James’ hand.

“Yes, do – because now, I’m afraid I’m rather tired.”

“Of course. I’ll not impose. Tomorrow, James.” John takes his leave. 

Sir James Ross closes his eyes, satisfied. It could be minutes, hours, or even days; he doesn’t have much longer for this world. Death is welcome now. With his burden lifted, he looks forward to being reunited with his beloved Ann.

And later, his good friend, Francis. 


End file.
